why must i?

some wounds

i don't think heal,

there's no scar;

they remain open—

echoes of the past

salted by new twists

of the knife,

and they say you should

forgive and forget;

but why must i?

knives hurt when they

cut you,

and i still spilled blood;

i was still in pain

sometimes i still cry 

from the past—

why should i have to forgive

those who are not sorry?

people see your tears,

only then do they recognize

they've gone too far;

but they're only sorry that

you feel—not that they hurt you,

so no some apologies

will not grant forgiveness;

i will not let you take the

knife you stabbed into my back

so you can keep stabbing me—

i've had enough echoes

of your cruel song stabbing me.